Memories
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February 2017
I water the garden
To quench once more:
The flowers that wither
When left unattended
By gardeners who dither
When time runs out.
The daisies of crayons
I got for my birthday
And never used.
The orange tree's branches
Whose fruits are bruised.
The rosy ooze.
And lastly the weed-patch
Of moments of mirth
That might (if I let them)
Inherit the Earth.